Feminism in the Worlds of Neil Gaiman Read online

  Even when Delirium herself discusses her change, Gaiman leaves room for interpretation. In “The Song of Orpheus” special issue, she briefly mentions nearly getting married, adding “but that was a long time ago. It never happened. Maybe that was my fault. I don’t know. Shit happens” (Sandman Special 1:5). While heartbreak remains a possible explanation for her transformation, the idea is not brought up again in the series and ultimately feels too inconsequential to account for such a drastic change of identity. Her most direct comments on the matter reveal the universality of her experience. After witnessing her eldest brother Destiny upset Dream, she attempts an explanation: “Do you know why I stopped being Delight, my brother? I do. There are things not in your book. There are paths outside this garden. You would do well to remember that” (47:11). Earlier, during her outburst towards Desire, Delirium proclaims, “I know lots of things. Things about us. Things not even [Destiny] knows” (21:17). Her determination and confidence that all of existence is not at the mercy of the fate delineated and contained in Destiny’s book reveals that, unlike the scores of voiceless women in comics past, Delirium has a measure of agency both unexpected and welcome in the medium. Rather than just an insignificant pawn, Delirium is an agent of a constructive, theoretical approach to existence. Her use of the active verb “stopped” suggests that her transformation was self-induced, perhaps out of her own realization that a permanent embodiment of Delight was impossible to sustain in the universe. In spite of the patronizing attitude other characters show towards her, Delirium reveals insight into the nature of the Endless that marks her as more independent and wiser than her siblings, and potentially readers, give her credit for.

  The most powerful and stirring representation of Delirium’s tragedy comes during her flashback near the beginning of the “Brief Lives” arc. While waiting for Dream to decide whether or not he will accompany her on her journey, she reflects on her days as Delight: “The moment she realized what was happening, that the universe was changing, that she was growing up or at least growing older she was no longer Delight; and the blossoms had already begun to fall in her domain, becoming smudged and formless colors, and she had no one to talk to” (42:20). The contrast in the artwork between Delirium and Delight on this page is striking. No gutter separates the images; Delirium is hunched over, looking concerned and apprehensive, with a dull gray shirt over her tattered stocking in front of a drab background. Delight, on the other half of the page, is stunningly beautiful, with flowing blond hair, dotted with flowers, standing on a vibrant patch of land in front of a cliff. Delirium’s memory also includes a visit from Destruction, who calmly tells her “things are changing” (42:20). The narrator’s implication, that growing up or growing older, led to Delight’s change, while ambiguous, provides more rationale for Delirium’s fragmented state. Her fall is emblematic of a general fall from innocence, an awakening of an undefined nature. Potentially a metaphor for blossoming sexuality, Adam and Eve’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden, or just recognition of the cruelty of the world itself, Delirium’s state is a mirror of society at large and a reflection of injustices leveled against women, the specifics of which can be applied by the individual reader. That Delirium had “no one to talk to” suggests that as time goes on, fewer and fewer people live lives completely unmarred by sadness or tragedy. Eventually, nobody can remain in Delight’s realm because pure happiness is impossible. While some, such as Destiny and Death, continue with their responsibilities in the face of such injustice without hesitation, other members of the Endless, including Dream and Destruction, struggle with them. Delirium, on the other hand, who has clearly suffered the most for her awareness of her family’s complex nature, endures in spite of her unbalanced state. Whether or not gender is a key factor in her change is unclear, though it bears remembering that the only member of the Endless to show mental instability is indeed female. As Julie Goodspeed-Chadwick points out, “depictions of traumatized female bodies are fraught with political implications related to gendered identity. Gender matters in representations of trauma” (9–10). Reader response to a male Delirium would be decidedly different; certainly less patronizing and less fraught with sexist implications. Nevertheless, examining Delirium’s narrative purpose in the series dispels any notions that she bears anything more than a superficial resemblance to women in comics past and reveals a complex and nuanced character that undergoes vast changes of her own, in spite of her psychological affliction.

  A Journey of Her Own

  While Delirium’s complex personality rises above normative stereotypes of female victimhood, her narrative purpose also marks a shift in traditional attitudes towards women in comics. As an emotionally fragile individual, the general assumption of both The Sandman character as well as the readers raised on traditional comics is that Delirium requires male assistance and “rescue.” At first glance, however, much of her personality seems derivative of comics’ sexist history. Women are frequently depicted in ways that “undermine their own strength and power,” and it might appear that Delirium is no exception (Knight x). When compared to Dream, with his forceful, intransigent manner, Delirium seems unhinged and devoid of control. Her madness, though certainly powerful and even horrific in its unpredictability, suggests a lack of competence in relation to her more stable siblings. Throughout the series, readers see less of Delirium’s abilities than her siblings. One of her few actions towards mortals is cursing some unassuming policemen with invisible insects for the rest of their lives, a far cry from her siblings’ powers, though the act does result in the cops losing their sanity (45:5). Delirium also appears to share many of the normative traits of women in action genres: “Men epitomized physical power, emotional control, and brawn, and women were deemed to be their polar opposites” with traits such as “emotionalism, physical weakness, dependency, gullibility, ability to nurture, and a lesser intelligence than men” (Knight xv). The near universal negativity of these traits paints an alarming picture for Gaiman’s representation of her; the “Brief Lives” story arc, encompassing the search for the prodigal member of the Endless, Destruction, is brought about by Delirium’s own pain at missing her brother. At a nightclub, after mistaking a Goth woman for her sister Death, Delirium breaks down, screaming and afraid. Shortly thereafter, in Desire’s realm, she acknowledges that she is “finding it harder to hold on” (41:13). When Desire tells her to pull herself together, Delirium explodes into a swarm of multicolored butterflies, and, after reassembling anthropomorphically, sadly remarks, “I’m together. Aren’t I? I know I used to be” (41:13–14). Afraid to look for her brother alone, she seeks Dream’s help and appears to be at best a voiceless accomplice and at worse a needy nuisance during the journey. As the story progresses, however, Delirium comes to take a more active role, belying her early appearances of being weak and helpless.

  While Delirium is the chief instigator of the “Brief Lives” story, whether or not this in itself serves as any sort of feminist representation or agency has been questioned. In “Illusory Adversaries?: Image of Female Power in Sandman: Kindly Ones,” K.A. Laity argues against overzealous praise of Gaiman’s treatment of female characters. Though acknowledging a “profusion of well-rounded characters,” Laity maintains that The Sandman’s circular, complex structure “undercuts the power and menace of the supposed adversaries of Morpheus” (66). Because Dream brought about his own destruction over the course of the series, Laity argues “all these female characters serve only as instruments for Dream’s death-wish and creator Gaiman’s narrative completion.... Apparent female power turns out to be merely a tool for male composition” (66). Though Laity focuses almost entirely on the “Kindly Ones” arc, a similar claim could be made concerning Delirium. While undeniably true that the ancillary characters act to assist Dream throughout the series, that does not necessarily preclude that the women themselves lack a story or narrative of their own, particularly Delirium. While the quest to find the prodigal brother Destruction ends with Dream fulfill
ing his son’s wish to die, Delirium’s role is more than supplementary; she is the essential driving force of the narrative.

  Dream, ostensibly in charge of their journey, nevertheless falters when Destiny confronts him about his son Morpheus. Being reminded about the son he has forsaken greatly upsets Dream, who shows what could be considered a stereotypically feminine emotive response for the comics medium. Delirium, on the other hand, makes a decidedly masculine appraisal of the situation, urging Dream on and chastising Destiny for being narrow-minded: “There are paths outside this garden. You would do well to remember that” (47:11). During this sequence, Delirium’s eyes are a matching shade of blue rather than their traditionally mismatched representation. She also speaks with less sporadic, chaotic word balloons. When Dream comments on her appearance, she calmly explains, “If you’re going to fall apart, then one of us has to keep this thing going. Please get up. I don’t know how much longer I can be like this. It hurts very muchly” (47:12). While recognizing her own limitations, Delirium pushes herself, for the first time in the series, to a more intact, together state. While Laity would likely argue that the scene merely shows Delirium fulfilling Gaiman’s narrative purpose which, admittedly, it does, such a view ignores the fact that the scene reveals Delirium to be far more complex and stable than her normally neurotic personality suggests.

  Though she is unable to convince Destruction to return to his duties, Delirium, unlike her siblings, shows an understanding as to why he abandoned them in the first place. After relating the story of her journey with Dream in her typical, roundabout manner, complete with references to airplanes and chocolate lovers, she acknowledges having to put herself together. Once again, her eyes are the same color (green, as opposed to blue in the scene with Destiny) as she cries and quietly tells Destruction that “it hurt” (48:6). Dream, on the succeeding panel, is looking down, a pained expression on his face as he reflects on his own complicity in the matter. As Destruction and Dream debate about the nature of personal responsibility and the Endless’ roles in the universe, Delirium calmly follows along, stating her brother left “because there’s no such thing as a one-sided coin” (48:17). Dream, who sees the universe predominantly in how it relates to his realm, the Dreaming, is less willing to accept his brother’s departure. Destruction continues, mentioning a conversation with Death where he was told, “everyone can know everything Destiny knows. And more than that. She said we all not only could know everything, we do. We just tell ourselves we don’t to make it all bearable” (48:17–8). Dream is skeptical and Destruction maintains that he, too, is puzzled by the quote, but Delirium, who has often referenced knowing matters that the rest of the Endless do not, claims “she is. Um. Right. Kind of. Not knowing everything is all that makes it okay, sometimes” (48:18). Delirium, who has suffered far more than the rest of the Endless, is the only character able to comprehend the price that an abundance of knowledge places on a psyche. If we read her transformation in part as a fall (or Fall) from innocence, then it becomes clear that only by pretending that painful, traumatic aspects of life do not exist can we continue living in the universe mentally unscathed. Doing so, however, is living a shadow life, devoid of reality and responsibility.

  While the quest ostensibly ends with the pair finding Destruction and his subsequent departure, Dream’s journey is not over until he grants his forsaken son Orpheus the reprieve of death. Delirium, however, appears to be finished and, for all intents and purposes, only a marginal character for the remainder of the series. Viewing her as nothing but Dream’s accomplice and the progenitor of the quest undermines her own adaptability and character growth. While Dream exhibits far more traits of the traditional hero, following many of Joseph Campbell’s stages of the monomyth. He answers Delirium’s “Call to Adventure” and acquires the necessary knowledge from Destruction to become “Master of Two Worlds,” his Dreamworld and the mortal world embodied by Orpheus and others. Delirium, however, also shows traits of a narrative hero, even if they are less visibly heroic. In this interpretation, the “Brief Lives” arc serves as the precursor to Delirium’s solo quest in the “Kindly Ones” story; the recovery of her dog Barnabas. While she tells Dream at the conclusion of their quest, “I don’t think I could have done it on my own,” the truth remains that Dream also could not have done it on his own (49:8). Now, with a restored sense of confidence and relative stability, Delirium embarks on an individual quest in the climactic story arc of The Sandman.

  Compared to the tragic overtones of Dream’s battle with the Furies, the ultimate consequence of his granting Orpheus the release of death, a search for a lost dog seems trivial and inconsequential. Both characters’ actions, however, are a direct result of their reactions to the circumstances of their earlier quest. Dream is ultimately unable to cope with the loss of his son and, rather than abandon his domain as Destruction does, he constructs an elaborate narrative in which he is the tragic victim of events supposedly beyond his control. While his devotion to his responsibilities is in many ways admirable, it also reveals the limitations of his character. Throughout the series, various characters comment upon their perceptions of his new personality, from his former wife Calliope to his past lover Nada, whom he frees from Hell after acknowledging that his ten-thousand-year-old grudge may have been unjust. Dream constantly denies changing, however, and appears uncomfortable regarding any inclination that he has. Ultimately, Dream accepts the reality that he can no longer perform his duties and allows a new embodiment of Dream, the child Daniel, to replace him, presumably with a more humanist outlook. Delirium, on the other hand, also shows newfound resilience and a more expansive growth than would normally be associated with a victimized female in comics.

  Delirium’s first appearance in this story arc is intentionally misleading, apparent belying any belief that she has changed since her previous appearance in “Brief Lives.” The narrator matter-of-factly notes, “It was then Delirium noticed that she had absent-mindedly transformed into a hundred and eleven perfect, tiny multicolored fish. Each fish sang a different song” (59:12). On the next page, a now anthropomorphic Delirium, with a somewhat pensive look on her face, muses about wanting a dog before recalling “there had been a dog around at some point, hadn’t there?” (59:13). Though humorous, as her appearances often are, the scene is effectively the start of a quest that will showcase her newfound sense of order and control. Considering the lack of female characters, especially victimized ones, who undertake worthwhile adventures of their own, Delirium’s journey is uncommon and refreshing. She mirrors some of her steps with Dream by visiting their elder brother Destiny, whom she reminds “last time I had a quest to find someone I did really well” (63:9). Destiny, rather than repeat his previous admonition to abandon her quest, advises Delirium that the choice is hers whether or not to attempt to aid Dream, showing a slight change in his attitude towards his youngest sister. Instead of his patronizing treatment in “Brief Lives,” he shows a respect for her competence and tells her to continue her journey.

  Though Dream refuses to accompany her on her search for Barnabas, Delirium’s encounter with him showcases more of her incisive understanding of the Endless’ duties. As a mild chastisement of her brother talking about his “responsibilities,” Delirium reminds him, “Our existence deforms the universe. That’s responsibility” (64:8). Her illustration of the maxim, that a member of the Endless admiring a bolt of lightning would leave a lingering effect on the people who encounter the same spot manifests itself in the “reality storm” of the “Worlds’ End” story line, where the funeral procession for Dream reveals how much of an impact his demise has on the universe. Dream voices no response to her, and the narrator tells us “if he was shaken inside, or disturbed in any way by this meeting, he gave no evidence of this” (64:9), though, like Destiny, he at least treats Delirium with more respect than in previous encounters.

  As her quest winds down, Delirium encounters Nuala of Faerie, who assists with some advice, and finally enc
ounters Lucifer, moonlighting as a nightclub pianist. During their conversation, Delirium shows more control and restraint than nearly any previous appearance. In a panel where she says, “I want my doggie back. And I want my brother all right. I don’t want him hurt or anything,” her appearance is strikingly normal (68:13). In spite of the multicolored hair and eyes, Delirium’s face is earnest, sincere, and controlled. She is also grasping her hands together in a pleading fashion, showing a human element that many of the Endless struggle to reveal. Lucifer sends her along to find Barnabas, but not without being moved. Her appearance causes him to reflect on his own talk with Dream on the nature of abandoning one’s kingdom and acquiring “the ultimate freedom. The freedom to leave” (68:14). He also recalls his first encounter with Dream in The Sandman, and, rather than harbor resentment at Dream’s embarrassment of him in front of the legions of Hell, he pities him: “You know, I swore to destroy him. Your brother ... he embarrassed me ... now I feel almost sorry for him” (68:13). Just as with Destiny and Dream, Delirium elicits a complex response from a more stereotypically strong and powerful character.

  Dream’s death, the climactic moment of the entire series, occurs over several visually striking panels, culminating in Death and Dream’s fingers meeting in a manner reminiscent of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam segment of the Sistine Chapel (69:10–1). Merely a few pages later, in a grand reversal of the high tragedy of Dream’s demise, Delirium and Barnabas are reunited, with the dog knocking her over, licking her face ebulliently. The juxtaposition of the end of the two quests provides an emphatic statement on Delirium’s resilience. In place of her static ancestors in comics, women forced to wait for their savior to arrive, Delirium embarked on a quest that, in spite of its seeming inconsequentiality, revealed her ability to endure despite her fragmented condition. Delirium also meets the homeless man who had been watching Barnabas and offers a gift, mentioning “palaces and golden touches and Oh! Never dying and things?” (69:15). The man declines, however, stating that though he is “kind of yours anyway,” he realizes the implications of asking a boon of Delirium could have potentially drastic results (69:15). Still, Delirium offering a boon reveals a parallel between her and Dream. Two of his boons—granting Orpheus his death and leaving the Dreaming to visit Nuala—play a major role in his destruction. By ultimately not granting the man a boon, Delirium is free from the rigid constraints that come back to haunt Dream. As she and Barnabas walk off into Delirium’s realm, which is bright and colorful, another contrast to the overwhelming blacks and blues of the Dreaming, Barnabas tries to comfort Delirium about her brother, stating, “I’m sure he can take care of himself” to which she responds, “I ... I don’t think so...” (69:15). The use of ellipses intensifies her level of concentration and introspection here; for all of Dream’s officious, perspicacious nature, the story arc ends with Delirium, thought by so many to be weak and enfeebled, doubting her brother’s ability to look after himself.